How to begin, how to begin...
A million others have sat here, where I am now - staring at an only slightly less than blank screen, hoping for inspiration to come; willing thoughts to pass through an empty vacuum.
Or so it would seem. For nothing is really as simple as saying what we mean, or feel, or see. What could possibly be easier, when all we need is ourselves?
But it is precisely that which can force such a stutter; an immediate mental block. Suddenly, there is a dramatic hesitation because we - maybe only I, although I can't be brought to believe that I am the only one - realise that, in fact, we should have something to say.
And what if we don't?
This engagement with ourselves, with our own thoughts, is reason enough to trust that everyone does have something to contribute, no matter what that may be. We are human. That is interesting all by itself.
But the realisation of this quality, I would venture to say, could be what truly allows us to find our voices.
I'm an artist.
But not because I make work, or read about art, or visit galleries. Or because I chose to study it.
Not even because I enjoy it.
I'm an artist because I believe that art - potentially one of the top 5 most ambiguous words in our vocabulary - is a language.
So, here I am.
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